


Chapter Three - The Mistake

by afreezingnote



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Magical Accidents, Memory Alteration, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Pre-Slash, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afreezingnote/pseuds/afreezingnote
Summary: A close call at the hunting camp leads Gaius and Merlin to discover the cause of Merlin's predicament.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 34
Collections: Merlin Fic Server Round Robin





	Chapter Three - The Mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chapter Two - The Loss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470422) by [bellamyblakru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyblakru/pseuds/bellamyblakru). 



> This is chapter three of the Merlin Fic Server Round Robin, which is an on-going, collaborative storytelling project hosted by the [Merlin Fic Book Club](https://discord.gg/6gMx3cV) on discord. Check out the [collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Merlin_Fic_Server_Round_Robin) for all the chapters.
> 
> Thanks to Lawless_bard for the beta and brit-picking!
> 
> Timeline notes: Arthur is still prince, Morgana was able to stay with the Druids, Kilgharrah is still imprisoned, the Knights of the Round Table have gathered under different circumstances; vaguely set sometime after the episode Lancelot and Guinevere
> 
> Possible CW: though no graphic depiction of hunting is involved in this chapter, there is mention of game animals/animal death.

Merlin rested his shoulder against the birch tree beside him and tilted his face skyward. The warmth of the sun settled over him like a second skin, enveloping and comforting at once. However, when Arthur turned back to him with the pheasant he’d felled in hand, Merlin took a step forward and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He caught himself on the tree trunk. Cold throbbed around the absence of his magic while his head swam.

“Alright, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

Merlin blinked slowly. The light he’d just savored drummed into his senses harshly now. The concerned scrunch of Arthur’s brow offered a point of focus, and Merlin managed to steady himself once more. “Still a bit shaky, I guess,” he said.

“Let’s head back to camp,” Arthur said. He held out his hand for the brace of rabbits swinging from the rope clutched in Merlin’s hand. “There might be some lunch ready if Owain and Dinadan haven’t been idle.”

If he were feeling better, Merlin might have remarked on the early hour and the offer to carry the game, but he knew that Arthur’s suggestion came from genuine worry for Merlin’s health. The prat could be sweet like that when he wanted. Despite his numerous flaws, Arthur was a good friend.

* * *

The smell of stew reached them before they could see the camp through the trees. At the sound of footsteps, Leon looked up from where he was brushing his horse, tension bleeding into his frame. His stance loosened when he spotted them. “You’re back early, sire,” he commented.

Arthur shrugged and held up the fruits of his hunting. “I’d hate to leave my men feeling inadequate with too much success.”

Leon chuckled. “Of course, my lord.”

As they entered the camp properly, Merlin saw Lancelot tending the pot over the fire. That explained the pleasant, herby aroma of the simmering food—he and Lancelot were the best cooks among the group of friends emerging from Arthur’s growing Round Table.

“Why are you two here minding camp?” Arthur asked.

“We thought we’d let the youngsters have their fun,” Lancelot said. “It’s their first outing as Knights of the Round Table after all.”

Owain and Dinadan, like several others, had won their opportunity to train for knighthood in the second of a series of challenges Arthur had hosted testing the skill of all comers. The trials were entirely under Arthur’s purview. After convincing Lancelot to stay following their run-in with Hengist, Arthur had championed the cause of changing the First Code until Uther relented, allowing him to recruit and train commoners along with nobles.

Merlin knew as well as Arthur that Uther had only conceded because he believed the effort would end in disaster. The king expected to clean up the mess with an imperious lecture, leaving Arthur feeling foolish and less likely to speak up for his beliefs in the future. 

“How thoughtful,” Merlin remarked in a teasing lilt that somewhat dampered his sincerity. He aimed a lopsided grin at Lancelot. “Our stomachs thank you for your kindness.”

“Speaking of—” Lancelot began. He leaned forward, reaching for the ladle resting on a rock. He dipped up some broth and offered it to Merlin. “Is it missing anything?”

Merlin took the ladle and blew over the steaming liquid. After a moment, he took a careful sip and hummed. “No, it’s lovely. Almost done, I think.”

He passed the ladle back to Lancelot and sat next to him, relaxing gratefully back against the fallen tree trunk behind them.  
  
Arthur gestured toward Merlin as he spoke to Lancelot. “He’s not as well as he thought. Make sure he gets food first when it’s ready.”  
  
“Will do, sire,” Lancelot said. He turned to Merlin with a raised eyebrow. 

Merlin shook his head with an expression intimating, _“We’ll talk later.”_  
  
Lancelot accepted that without comment. By now, he had grown used to intuiting which moments begged for secrecy due to the involvement of magic and trusted Merlin’s judgment. Mostly.

Merlin closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and inhaled deeply, welcoming the fresh scents of the forest. Once again, the sunlight bathed him in pleasant warmth. A few songbirds chirped among themselves above them. He pressed his palms to the earth. The buzz of life and the thrum of the magic of the world usually greeted him readily in nature, but only the feedback of his mundane senses answered him now.

Without opening his eyes, Merlin knew that Arthur had settled beside him. As the sound of Arthur and Leon chatting about training sequences washed over him, Merlin realised he could feel a faint tremolo beneath his fingertips like a ghost of the vibration he had always known. The sensation came stronger to the hand laying closest to Arthur.

Merlin scrunched his brows and tried chasing the murmur of power under his hands within himself. Again, that frigid, yawning ache greeted him. All curiosity fled as vertigo swept over him, growing in intensity until spots of darkness danced at the edges of his vision. Merlin silently endured, clutching to consciousness by his nails, and waited for the reeling to pass.

 _Gods,_ he thought, _this is going to be a long hunting trip._

* * *

Merlin woke feeling fairly normal, refreshed even. As he sat up, he saw Dinadan feed the last log onto the renewed fire. The young knight must have had the last watch for no one else had yet risen.

“Morning, Merlin,” Dinadan said.

“Good morning,” Merlin said. He stretched and shoved himself up from the bed roll. “I’ll go collect some more wood and then we can see about breakfast.”

“Need help?” Dinadan asked.

“Nah, I’ll be back in a tick.”

Before stepping into the trees, Merlin cast a glance over the camp and a surge of fondness rose within him. The men laying here in a haphazard circle, trusting their safety to one another, would prove Uther wrong to doubt the worth and potential of commoners.

The king’s men stayed loyal for love of the kingdom, strict discipline, and fear. Arthur’s men gave him their allegiance because they believed in him as a person and as a leader. He taught them, rode beside them in battle, and bled with them. They would sooner die than betray Arthur or Camelot.

Among the men drawn to Camelot by the news of open trials, three besides Lancelot had risen in Arthur’s esteem and his company of knights: Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival. Shared hijinks and adventures had earned them Merlin’s regard as well. He trusted Arthur’s life as well as his own to this steadfast band of men.

Growing up in Ealdor had acquainted Merlin with loneliness, and the boy he had been would never have imagined he would grow to have such companionship. He was especially grateful to have Lancelot back in his life to confide in. 

During the first watch last night, Merlin had kept Lancelot company and explained the current situation. His response had left Merlin properly humble.  
  
 _“Do you not think mucking about with a man’s memory is crossing a line, Merlin?”_

_“It’s not ideal and I’m not happy about it either, but what else could I do without getting sent to the block?”_

_“I don’t believe your faith in Arthur is so poor as that. You trust him. I know you do. Do you really think he would reject you if you told him about your magic? Or are you just afraid?” Lancelot asked._ _  
__  
__“I—I don’t know,” he said. He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m paying for it now, aren’t I?”_

_Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder. “If I can help you get out of this mess, just say the word and I’m there.”_

As Merlin scanned the ground for choice pieces of firewood, the question Lancelot had posed preoccupied his thoughts. He’d asked himself similar questions hundreds of times, yet never came to a satisfactory conclusion. Lost in the same fretful mental cycle, Merlin forgot to mind his surroundings. A protruding root snagged Merlin’s foot, and as he fell, he tried to catch himself on a tree branch. The wood his hand found was dried and dead. When it gave way, the whole limb came with it.

Instinctively, Merlin reached for his magic to shield himself. Cold lurched within him and sent icy tendrils creeping through his whole body. He curled into himself, protecting his head and stomach. Twigs scratched and snapped over his back. Mercifully, the bulk of the deadfall landed to his right.

Merlin forced himself to breathe through the pain and the horror of his helplessness. It was some time before his lungs subsided to a normal rhythm. 

When he finally made it back to camp with a modest bundle of sticks in his arms, he was sweating profusely and doing everything he could not to sway as if drunk. Merlin knew the others were talking, perhaps even to him, as he walked forward, but he could only spare thought to his task without falling apart. He reached the circle of stones enclosing the fire. When he bent to lay down the wood, his vision blackened and the world shifted. Stray sparks popped from the burning logs as the flames seemed to rise to meet him.

Strong arms wrapped around his chest and Arthur's familiar scent followed him as he succumbed to the dark.

* * *

The recursive experience of opening his eyes to the clutter of the Physician’s Chambers with no memory of how he’d gotten there left Merlin feeling befuddled. He scrabbled at the edge of the blanket with one hand, trying to shove it off, as he pushed himself up.

Gaius made a disapproving noise. “Stay down,” he commanded. “You’ve had another fainting spell.”

Merlin grumbled but being even halfway to upright had him lightheaded already. He let himself collapse back into the lumpy pillow. “How long have I been out?” he asked.

“You’ve been here shy of a candlemark,” Gaius said. “Arthur told me you rode at least that long to return to the citadel.”

A whole hour. Merlin hoped it wouldn’t bode ill for him that this brush with unconsciousness was longer than the first one.

Gaius pulled up a stool beside the cot and sat. “I know you don’t want to talk about this,” he began with a conciliatory tone, “but I need to know everything that happened when you were breaking the enchantment on Arthur. Your symptoms started immediately afterward. I don’t think that’s coincidence.”

Merlin sighed. He knew Gaius was right. Begrudgingly, he recounted the memory in detail. “Then I spelled the memory to be buried,” Merlin concluded.

“What spell did you use?” 

“I just said ‘transfer within’ in the Old Tongue.”

“Tell me the exact wording,” Gaius pressed.

“Oferlád innian. Is that wrong?” Merlin asked. Unease spiked and swirled in his stomach. The prospect of having made another huge mistake made his skin prickle with shame and brought heat to his cheeks.

Gaius hummed and tapped thoughtfully on his knee.

“Oferlád does mean transfer,” he said, “but it carries the connotation of pouring something into another vessel. The word meaning to pass from one place to another is ofercierran, which is what I suspect you intended.”

“So, you think I poured out my magic on accident?” Merlin asked. His thoughts raced, clamouring for his attention, and spilled from his mouth almost as rapidly. “How is that possible? Where would it have gone, and can I get it back?”

“I couldn’t say. I wish I knew more, Merlin,” Gaius said. He reached out to give Merlin’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m afraid we’ll have to look elsewhere for answers to those questions.”

Though he’d expected it, Merlin dreaded the thought. After refusing to help him find the Druids to shelter Morgana, Merlin had not gone back to see the dragon. He’d hoped never to have to consult that bloody great lizard again.

* * *

**Forest of Ascetir - The Previous Night**

A strong wind blew, sending the fabric of the tent juddering to match the beat of Morgana’s heart as she woke with a gasp. The images from her dreams faded quickly but a handful remained: Merlin falling toward a crackling campfire, the familiar moss and trees of the Darkling Woods looming large around two figures, Lancelot with Merlin leaning on his shoulder emerging from a cave to follow a trail of blue light, and Merlin looking bewildered as the light disappeared into Arthur’s chest. With the snatches of her vision came a message.

Into her mind, a voice spoke, bringing with it the impression of an old man. The imprint the presence left felt similar to the Druid elders she’d met since escaping with Aglain, though she didn’t know him. 

_“He will find what he lost in the Crystal Cave. You all yet walk the fair path, but your fates may fall to despair if trust is mislaid. Help him now to preserve the brightest course of destiny.”_

Morgana didn’t understand what that meant, exactly, but she felt an urgent certainty that she must go to Camelot. Merlin had been there for her when she felt herself fraying apart. He’d put himself at risk to locate the Druids for her. Without him, she would not have the peace, knowledge, or kinship she now cherished. Even though it meant stepping back into Uther’s court, she would not forsake her friend now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always welcome. If you'd like any additional tags included or spot any errors, please let me know, and I'll update asap.
> 
> Round robins are so much fun, and I can't wait to see where this one goes! When the next chapter is up, it'll appear with an "inspired by" link below.


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